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Dr. Scumbag, you're wanted in the penitentiary. Dr. Scumbag to the penitentiary, please.
FRIDAY: My name is Friday. I carry a drug testing 1 kit.
I had just gotten the call from headquarters. It seems some children in a Van Nuys hospice center were being given morphine to treat some quote unquote severe pain. I thought I'd check out the report. If doctors are really dealing junk to children, heads have got to roll.
So thinking, I turned to my partner Frank and said...
Chop-chop, baby. There's a report of some bigtime drug abuse at Panorama City Medical Center.
FRANK: Panorama City Medical? Isn't that in a drug free zone?
FRIDAY: That's right, Frank. It's practically right across the street from Ranchito Avenue Elementary School.
FRANK: Yeah. Those drug dealing scumbags will be eligible for the death penalty if we catch them trying to dope up those helpless kids.
FRIDAY: Turn on the light show, Frank, my scumbag radar is going off.
FRANK: Say, what is a hospice anyway, Joe?
FRIDAY: A hospice? I don't know exactly, but it's obviously some kind of hospital.
FRANK: Whee doggie, you mean we're going to be arresting doctors?
FRIDAY: That's right, Frank. At least if we can keep ourselves from shooting them in cold blood when we see them dealing junk to the unsuspecting children.
2:38 P.M. We arrived at the hospital and made a self-righteous beeline for the Admissions department, where we were greeted by the receptionist.
RECEPTIONIST: How may I help you, gentlemen?
FRIDAY: We're looking for the Hospice Center.
RECEPTIONIST: Upstairs and to the left. Next?
FRANK: I'm with him!
RECEPTIONIST: All right, keep your shirt on. Jesus.
FRIDAY: 2:39 P.M. With guns drawn, we ran up the stairs and out into an open area full of hospital beds where we stopped to reconnoiter.
FRANK: I give up, Joe? Where exactly is this hospice center? All I see is a bunch of sick children.
FRIDAY: Did you say sick children, Frank?
FRANK: Yes, I did, Joe. Why?
FRIDAY: Then this must actually BE the hospice center.
FRANK: Good catch, Joe. What now?
FRIDAY: Now we just hide ourselves behind this water cooler and wait for a doctor to come along with the goodies.
FRANK: How can they do it, Joe? I mean, the kids are already sick. And now they want to turn them into addicts as well?
FRIDAY: I know, right? But get behind the water cooler so that we can catch them in flagrante delicto.
FRANK: In fragrant what?
FRIDAY: Never mind, Frank, just hide.
2:41 P.M. We waited for what seemed like hours but was actually only three minutes. Finally our patience was rewarded as a doctor walked in carrying a very suspicious looking syringe.
GIRL: Doctor, it hurts.
DOCTOR: Don't worry, sweetie. This will make you feel better.
FRANK: No it most certainly won't. Drop the syringe now!
DOCTOR: Who are you?
FRIDAY: We're your worst nightmare. Now drop the syringe and come away from the little girl.
DOCTOR: But she's in pain.
FRANK: The nerve of this guy, trying to use the little girl's unfortunate medical condition to excuse his own sordid drug pushing.
GIRL: What's happening?
FRIDAY: Everything's fine, honey. This man isn't going to bother you ever again.
2:55 P.M. We arrived back at headquarters with scumbag in tow. Our lab guys verified that the syringe was indeed filled with medical-grade morphine 2 , enough to bring peaceful sleep to dozens of hospice kids, thereby turning them into mindless junkified addicts for life.
FRANK: When will folks learn that drugs are not the answer, Joe?
FRIDAY: Hopefully not before December 31st, 2045, Frank.
FRANK: Why's that, Joe?
FRIDAY: Because that's when I retire from the police force, Frank.
FRANK: Oh.
ANNOUNCER: On November 9th, trial was held in the superior court of Los Angeles county. The scumbag was found guilty of 7 counts of drug possession, drug dealing, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He is currently on death row. In a strange twist, the hospice is reporting an unusually high rate of deaths among their young clientele. Police theorize that the creep was not only injecting kids with drugs, but with contaminated drugs at that.
Katie MacBride's one-sided attack on MAPS reminds me of why I got into an argument with Vincent Rado. Yes, psychedelic hype can go too far, but let's solve the huge problem first by ending the drug war!!!
NIDA is just a propaganda arm of the U.S. government -- and will remain so until it recognizes the glaringly obvious benefits of drugs -- as well as the glaringly obvious downsides of prohibition. We need a National Institute on Drug Use, not a National Institute on Drug Abuse.
The press is having a field day with the Matthew Perry story. They love to have a nice occasion to demonize drugs. I wonder how many decades must pass before they realize that people are killed by ignorance and a corrupted drug supply, not by the drugs themselves.
Until we legalize ALL psychoactive drugs, there will be no such thing as an addiction expert. In the meantime, it's insulting to be told by neuroscience that I'm an addictive type. It's pathologizing my just indignation at psychiatry's niggardly pharmacopoeia.
If the depressed patient laughs, that means nothing. Materialists have to see results under a microscopic or they will never sign off on a therapy.
We've got to take the fight TO the drug warriors by starting to hold them legally responsible for having spread "Big Lies" about "drugs." Anyone involved in producing the "brain frying" PSA of the 1980s should be put on trial for willfully spreading a toxic lie.
M. Pollan says "not so fast" when it comes to drug re-legalization. I say FAST? I've gone a whole lifetime w/o access to Mother Nature's plants. How can a botanist approve of that? Answer: By ignoring all legalization stakeholders except for the kids whom we refuse to educate.
In a sane world, we would learn to strategically fight drugs with drugs.
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In a free world, almost all depressed individuals could do WITHOUT doctors: these adult human beings could handle their own depression with the informed intermittent use of a wide variety of psychoactive substances.